#JUNGKOOK THE HARPED GUARDIAN

[dzzangbangtan]

this Map of the Soul Persona better mean this comeback too

RETURN OF V-ONYSUS

[sor-vette]

The Bedfoot

• type: Jimin x fem! reader (mild Yoongi and Jungkook x reader) • w/c: 1.9k • rating: explicit

• genre/about: light angst, light smut, guardian angel! (sorta) au

• c/w: mention of drowning, mention of a parental loss, mention of grief, jealousy, smut (voyeurism, oral (f), masturbation (f), Jimin's bit of a creep but it's fine)

• tagging/permanent tag: @pinkcherrybombs; @babycoffeefire; @mayla548; @gukieater (I hope you don't mind); @ilsan-seoul

• masterlist • dedicated to: an absolute menace, @introlxv

• what’s happening in Ukraine and how to help

• a/n: written while sleep-deprived at work. If you somehow like it, you can now tip me on ko-fi :)

The earliest known Christian image of an angel can be found in the Cubicolo dell'Annunciazione in the Catacomb of Priscilla (mid-3rd century) and is without wings. In that same period, representations of angels on sarcophagi, lamps and reliquaries also show them without wings, as for example the angel in the Sacrifice of Isaac scene in the Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus (although the side view of the Sarcophagus shows does depict winged angelic figures). The earliest known representation of angels with wings is on the "Prince's Sarcophagus", attributed to the time of Theodosius I (379–395), discovered at Sarigüzel, near Istanbul, in the 1930s. From that period on, Christian art has represented angels mostly with wings.

As such, you do not know for certain that what stands before you is an angel. He has neither a harp nor a halo or wings, just an aura of goodness, of being a safe place.

He watches you make speedy work of yourself, fervently brushing your index against your clit faster and faster with a wrinkle etched deep between his brows.

You wonder if he's judging you. But he has no place to judge.

When you come, back arching, maybe just slightly overplaying the moan, his knuckles are white and the metal railing of the bed creeks underneath the pressure exerted upon it. There's not a hair out of place on his perfect head, but he was panting, eyes fixated on the blasphemous sight. When you settle back into the covers, now worn out and satiated, he leaves, simply gliding through the wall and into the night.

He always leaves but doesn’t stay gone for too long.

The magnificent display of preternatural powers is what held you back from calling the police about having a stalker, and fear kept you from checking into a mental hospital.

It had been an awkward, confusing and heartbreaking year. Dying on your birthday had then seemed somewhat appropriate - falling into a lake and drowning. You had made peace with that fate, sinking deeper into the dark, fading away if it was not for someone dragging you out and pulling ashore. When you opened your eyes and found him there, wet and fearful, you assumed he must be an angel. And when doctors said you somehow survived a twenty-minute drowning, you knew he was. Or maybe he wasn’t, once again noting the lack of harp and wings. But he was in either way your guardian.

He’d stayed with you ever since, acting so nonchalant that you developed a permanent suspicion he had been here your entire life, and the accident had merely opened your own blind eyes to his presence. Though your guardian held no clue you could now see him. You had stared at him for a solid ten minutes for several days. He only continued to idly roam through the room as though all you did was numbly fixate on a wall, instead of him.

You could of course address him, but something always held you back. If you were not meant to see him in the first place he could leave, he could do something in turn, and you didn’t want that.

When your mother had died it was the worst day of your life. You were inconsolable, almost dragging yourself back to the lake to reverse the miracle, but he had held you close as much as he could. He was not able to touch you, only envelop in a shimmering glow of his being, and to you, it felt like an instinct rather than actual physical contact. Like when people choose either going left or right. It was that overpowering gut feeling as though your body knew better. Or was comforted into knowing better. He kept you as close as he possibly could and ghosted his hands above your hair, whispering in your ear that this too will pass. Grief will transform back into love whence it came from.

After that, you did not want to part with him. His presence, as discomfiting as oftentimes could be, served as a reminder that there was more to the world. More to your own life. More to the same old days repeating in a timed loop.

He accompanied you wherever your path led, remaining silent and mostly devoid of any expression. He cracked the occasional smile around animals or if you walked into the door. More or less you grew accustomed to not showing how his presence affected you and secretly, you hoped he did as well. You talked with your friends, worked and cooked as you had, though he did make one aspect rather stifling. When months had passed since both the accident and your mother’s death, you’d finally gathered yourself to go out with a date your friend recommended. You both had quickly taken it to his bedroom and as Yoongi laid a series of sloppy kisses alongside your neck, your eyes wandered to your guardian.

You had assumed he’d leave, give you some privacy, after all, he did so when you changed, but this time he remained present and upon his face sat an expression you’d never thought to see - hatred. Searing ire and envy so scalding you had gasped and pulled away. Your guardian’s eyes had then widened, and briefly, he was searching your face for recognition. This was the moment, this was it. You could finally breach the bridge of assumption, but Yoongi had then asked if something was wrong and your mouth moved faster than your brain.

Yes, you said, it’s just his dog had scared you.

Min Holly was promptly kicked out of the room, and your guardian’s shoulders slumped, his expression hardening once more. Yoongi was doing everything just right, hell, you were yet to find a man who’d eat you out for thirty minutes straight without shoving a dick into your mouth in return, but you could not try as you might just forget about the third, partially invisible character in the scene. He was sitting in the corner, almost appearing bored, but his eyes never left your figure. Having that piercing gaze tracking every inch of your skin made you burn hot with shame.

As Yoongi pounded from behind, moaning to his own abandon, you found yourself fluctuating between high and low. It felt good, but the orgasm was far, far away. At this point, the impregnable steel wall of his neutrality first fissured. His mouth parted, and he was panting, fingers, uncharacteristically agitated, running up and down his thigh and his gaze had gone frighteningly dark. His very glance pinned you down like a mouse in a trap. As if he knew exactly every single atrocious and perverse corner of your soul and desired it above anything else in this or other worlds.

Languidly he rose from the seat, and you gulped watching him approach from the corner of your eye. You had no clue what he would do, but you did not imagine him putting his forehead against yours, never, of course, really touching it, regardless, deliriously drinking your every moan, face contorted in a frustrated pleasure. Despite it being Yoongi who was nestling himself deep within, at that moment he fell outside of reality. It was just you and your guardian.

He kept his fists bundled around the bedframe, holding himself back, keening and groaning along with your every sound, but he dared not do any more than that. You didn’t even know what you would do if he did. He then leaned into your ear and with a deep, growling voice that sounded like thousands of people speaking at once, he uttered:

“Come.”

And you did. You did so hard, you blacked out and scared Yoongi halfway to death. When you rouse, weak and trembling, your guardian was back into the chair, lips curled in a haughty, sharp smirk.

Yoongi offered to keep meeting, he liked you, but you politely declined him, feeling guilty of the role he unknowingly been thrust in, and your guardian was happier for it.

This in turn created the new predicament - you’d get yourself off, and he would observe. Your guardian was a complete creep, but you figured it was on par for the course, considering you must be one as well.

As you wiped your hand against the duvet, he comes back and settled on the foot of your bed, running a weary hand over his face. You desperately want to ask him what’s wrong, but…

But…

You dare not.

Instead, you surreptitiously inch closer, placing your head near his thigh. Not above or against it, you couldn’t after all, but near it. In peripheral vision, you see him glance down in wonder and smile sadly to himself. He slides his fingers a breath away from your hair, pretending to stroke it, and you fall asleep.

He’s gone the next morning.

And the next.

The next week.

The next month.

The next season.

Where once was comfort, now is only emptiness, and you feel numb from head to toe. It’s strange to grieve after someone with whom you’ve never spoken a single word, but it was just as real.

Like a wound invisible to others, you trailed like he had - mute and expressionless. Your friends racked their brains of what could have possibly happened to garner this reaction, but they never found out.

Another day had arrived, and you’d lost hope of ever seeing your guardian ever again. You wished only that wherever he was, maybe protecting other people, that he was happier there and did not sigh with all the world’s burden.

On an assuming Wednesday, your friends had practically ambushed you with another one of their friends. He’s nice. Despite the tattoos, he was kind of goofy and with a sweet smile.

They had gushed all about how taken this guy was with you, how he was asking every time where you were and where you would be. You hadn’t noticed anything of it, too taken with your guardian at the time. Still, as you look at him, you feel nothing. He’s nice, but so were dogs in a park and colour coordinated drinks. Ultimately, it didn’t mean anything.

As he continues to rant about his three dogs and numerous collectables, you peer outside the glass door and your coffee cup shatters against the floor.

He’s there. Your guardian.

You don’t notice that his clothes are different from the constant white robes he’d worn before or that his face lacks the unnatural perfection, now adorned with occasional freckle and discolouration. All you noticed was that he was there, and he was gazing right at you. And you knew this time you truly saw each other. He blooms into a broad smile, jogging over the street, very dangerously, not looking around. He halts before the entrance, exhaling with nerves though full of determination…

…and walks face-first into the door.

You bark a short, surprised laugh. Jungkook who’d been wiping the spilt coffee raises his head to examine you, concerned. Your guardian, recovered after the brief mishap, takes long, striding steps towards your table.

He doesn’t even peek at anyone else.

“Hello!” he breathes, voice thin and airy. For the first time in months, you’re teeming with happiness, every nerve bright and grinning.

“Hello!” you greet him back, barely containing laughter.

“I’m Jimin!” he introduces himself, outstretching a hand for you to shake. It’s warm in your hold.

“I’m ________,” you reply, jittery, and Jimin smiles like he just heard the most hilarious private joke ever.

“I know,” he answers with a mischievous glint in his eye.

© sor-vette, 2022

[thatbangtanbloom]

Dionysus | jhs

dionysus | jhs

characters: hoseok x reader

au(s): greek god!au, historical!au

categories: angst, fluff, lots of tension

word count: 2,013

For as long as he could remember, Jung Hoseok was taught the grand distinction between the gods and the mortals. It was a once in an epoch phenomenon, to cross paths with someone as rare as Dionysus (the immortal name that his father had bestowed upon him); someone simultaneously both within and without; to exist as both a god and a human. This duality of nature prompted Hoseok to a childhood of hardships. Before the time that he could hold a kylix* in his hand, his father had told him of his mother, Semele, who had burned to a crisp the second she saw Zeus (Hoseok’s father) in his truest form. This was the first time Hoseok realized that he was to be untalked of, unseen, and unloved. 

Hoseok still recalls being looked down upon by his many brothers and sisters for being the very breed that his father governed and ridiculed for being ‘too’ human. Athena laughed when he bled from falling from Mount Olympus. Apollo scolded him for his humanly movements when he stroke his harp. Artemis scoffed when his actions were too in-deliberate and Heracles expressed disconcert for his lack of strength.

Hoseok did not expect to be admired by anyone as he grew older. His younger, much more vulnerable years were marred by the criticism of his siblings and the hateful vengeance of his step-mother (or step-witch, at times, Hoseok didn’t know what the difference was). He found himself growing more drawn to the rhythmic lilts of music, often paired with the toxic effects of inebriation that allowed for him to feel more at home. Those two things accompanied him to the edge and granted him his title as god of wine and patron of the arts. But a lesser known fact would have been that he was a patron of you, as well.

You were small, insignificant, a mere mortal that a god would not pay attention to. You did not have much to your name; nothing but an arranged marriage with a local village boy named Jungkook, and more movement that a woman of your class, stature, hell, era should have had. Your father called you everything short but of a perfect daughter and you knew that you likely scared your husband-to-be with each time he saw the movement of your hips in broad daylight.

Everyone would have beseech you to stop.

Everyone, that is, but Jung Hoseok. 

Hoseok admired the courage you took, the confidence and poise that you held while balancing your own free will. While he was never one to take women to the woods to join his cult (despite it being what he was infamous for), he found himself wishing that one day you would fall into the palm of his hand. 

It was almost as though he could not pinpoint it - was it admiration? Adoration? Infatuation? Obsession? As he resided over Mount Olympus, watching over you like a preoccupied guardian, he found his attachment growing more and his insatiable desires (or lust? Hoseok never knew these things) that always drew himself back to you.

“Have you heard of the Cult of Dionysus?” Agafya asks you from beside the riverbed as you stare out into the thin confines of water. You have always hated the way that you were pigeonholed into society; expected to marry, expected to produce children, expected to have no dreams outside of making sure your husband satisfied his.

You nod, not paying attention to her as you dip your toes into the cold water. It’s freezing, almost suffocating your ankles with the iciness, but you feel that it somehow feels better compared to how you feel above water. 

Agafya rubs her arm nervously as she notices your disinterest. “I have heard from the other villagers that his presence has been felt in the woods.. I fear that he grows near.. Y/N, what shall we do?”

“What can we do if he is as irresistible as they say he is?” You reply with a raised brow. “Who are we to defy the fate of the gods when they have so generously given us a haven to exist on?” You ask with a scoff.

Agafya’s frown deepens at your apathetic attitude. “Do you not remember the oracle and your story? YN! You should be the most afraid of all… you are susceptible when you are not under the influence of the god’s divine drink! Have you no shame that he may… covet you without so much as lifting a finger?”

The mention of the oracle makes your skin crawl. It had been the final nail in the coffin to how your parents intended you be wed off to a sensible, strong man. As the story goes, you would follow the fate as other foolish women entangled with the gods did - to be a divine gift, another crown jewel for Zeus, Hera would see for your immediate end. 

But unlike them, you refused to believe in such things. Why would you not choose your own autonomy when you choose to wash your face, brush your hair, read, and cook for yourself every morning? What was the difference in autonomy with choosing life over death? You knew the values of the gods - the misconstrued reasoning that often plagued them and their tendency of fooling mortals. But not you, you would not be blinded by the materialistic riches or the lustrous desires. You knew yourself better than that. 

“His father converted a mortal.Do you think he would make a mistake to grant a child who is no immortal at all?”You click your tongue before shaking your head.  “No man, whether god or not has the reason, charisma, or persuasion to me to do things that go against my value. If anything, he ought to be afraid of me who walks this Earth.” 

And little did you know, Hoseok was laughing to himself. He was, in fact, very afraid of you. Or rather, afraid to the degree of which he would find himself tripping over you (in a total god manner, of couse). He pondered on how to approach you, of what means he should do it. Would you fall for his immortal charm? Be blinded by his smile to the point where your eyes could no longer see the sun? Or should he have taken a card from his father’s deck and came in disguise? 

“Dionysus… he is here…” Is the first thing you hear in the market as you finish paying for the last of your grapes. You almost find yourself smiling, watching the men who tried to dictate your life scatter in collecting their wives, sisters, and daughters, as though it would protect them from the inevitable. 

You do not know the feeling that you find yourself experiencing. Is it pride? Happiness? Euphoria? There is an unnatural swell in your chest, a twinging feeling around your heart. Something in you is yelling, screaming, to enter the forest. For a split second,you question if it is a figure of your imagination. Then the next second, you realize you hear a noise.

The noise is barely above a pin drop, the slightest melody from a flute.

Dionysus’s flute.

Hoseok’s flute.

And for the second time, you find yourself smiling more.

The first person to try to drag you to the house is Agafya, eager to keep you safe through the bustle of the crowd. Her curly brown locks are a mess on her head as she pulls you behind her, running towards her house. It’s a monstrous scene, how women stand upright and walk through the front door, their peplos* dresses barely hugging their figures as they make a slow but strong descent to the forest. 

“YN….Why do you walk so slow? Don’t you know that his influence is pervasive? These words may be my last to you!” Agafya screams as she pulls on your arm, nearly falling to the ground to pull you. “Can you not see that you are under his mass influe-”

You do not hear anymore of her. She almost dissipates into dust when your eyes fall on his figure.

He is taller and more beautiful than you could ever imagine. His eyes look as though they hold the secrets to a thousand worlds and his gaze pierces through you. You can barely make the sublime smirk that crosses on his face.

“My.. my… my.. It is the one that I have waited for,” Dionsyus - Hoseok - purrs to you in a tone that could reduce you to nothing more but a pool of adoration for him. “Do you think that this is our first meeting or our last?”

“If I am the one that you have waited for, I wish that you would have chosen to make an appearance earlier.” You retort and Hoseok nearly chokes at your response. You were everything that he could ever imagine; intelligent, brilliant, witty, and beautiful. He wonders if the gods have looked favorably upon him for once. 

Hoseok finds himself smirking at your words, “I think that our crossing paths is a providence of the universe. It is not often that a mortal has the will, let alone strength to speak to me in such a manner.”

“I could say the same of you… It is not often that an immortal has the intelligence, let alone the brashness to speak to me in such a manner.” You reply with a soft smile before tilting your hands to the side. “Is this a cause of religious celebration? Of sacrifice, my god?” 

He stares at you for a moment, almost in awe of your presence and he wonders if you are the divine and he is a worshiper. He thinks that the roles should be reversed when you manage to command a room, to command him without spite, without malicious intent. 

“I think that our meeting is a divine interaction,” He lilts in a soft tone as he takes a seat on his chair. It is the first time you notice the pure whiteness of the room that is intersected by the gold trim of the edge of the desk, of the chair, of the table. “You have heard the story of the oracle, surely?”

“I have.” You say simply as you take in his appearance. The white is the same shade of pure dianthus caryophyullus flowers, or in simpler terms, carnations. It complements the honey brown that protrudes from the collar of his shirt. 

“And you are not afraid?” He asks as he leans forward to pour you a glass of wine. The smell is intoxicating and you find yourself growing faint just at the sight of it. 

You smile sweetly and it is from then on that Hoseok knows that he is a goner. “I think it is reasonable for you to fear our end as much as I do.”

“Does fate not scare you? I am sure you know as well as I that our story is ill-fated by the stars. While I have found myself in awe of you, I do not find myself afraid of losing it all as long as I find myself able to be with you in the presence, YN.” He whispers your name like a prayer and you wonder if this is real.

“Scare? Yes. Deter? No.” is your humble reply when his eyes finally meet yours. When his eyes meet yours, it is almost as though you can see a thousand other lifetimes with him. An intangible culmination of love, life, deception, and regret all rolled into one and all Hoseok does is smile.

He smiles because he knows that the ends may not justify the means. He smiles because he knows that perhaps you are willing to risk it all like he does, to risk it all like the Muses have destined and you wonder to what extent that this is the end. Until you realize, perhaps this is not the end, but the beginning.

- - - - -

* Terms:

-kylix: traditional Greek drinking cup

- peplos: delegated wear for Greek women in ancient Greece

- - - - -- - - - - 

I really like this idea.... Perhaps I could turn this into a series! Tell me what you think! Feel free to ask questions or leave your thoughts. Don’t be a silent reader! 

xx,

thatbangtanbloom